Words from A Raven
by Foosemittee
Summary: A. Raven is the object of the riddle, "Why is a raven like a writing desk?". And he's none too happy about it. By the way, did I mention the whole 'Guardian of a parallel world' deal? He has troubles, that much is true.
1. Why A Raven is Like a Writing Desk

You've been told the story, or it's been read to you, or you've read it yourself. The girl in blue finds herself in a new place where everything's backwards or wrong or insane, and the plot is a mess, and the innuendo is prevalent and rather disturbing.

Being a character, I can tell you, this piece of 'great, classic literature' is true drivel.

My name is Alistair Raven, or A. Raven, if you prefer. I'm a writer, but most of my books have never been published. Really, I'm considered to have such a quirky and odd personality that books have been written _about_ _me_, if you can believe that. As a certain fellow I know who works at the local haberdashery says, I've 'been written on'. That's why I'm like a writing desk, you see; we've both been written on. It's a silly pun, but it's been babbled at me over a million times, and I truly can't stand it. "Ooh, it's this great mystery, why is a raven like a writing desk, what could Lewis Carroll have meant?" and foolish prattle of that sort. I _know_ why A. Raven is like a writing desk; I _am_ A. Raven, for the love of mercy!

Anyway, Lewis Carroll—or the Reverend—or whoever he _really_ was…he probably overheard the stories of a child who'd been exposed to opium, leaving her with the idea that she'd seen things that she couldn't possibly have seen. At least, I hope.

For if she had, I would need to find a new job.


	2. Dahlia Eames and the Hawthorn Tree

I specialize in a very different type of security…oh, how cliché that sounds. I guard the entrance to a world that exists parallel to ours. Is that enough information for you?

I suppose not.

Well, I stand in front of this rather large tree, in which there is a rather large hole. I have time off on holidays, Friday the 13th, and whenever the weather is too horrible for someone to go near the thing anyway.

It was raining rather hard on the day when Alice Liddell got all those strange ideas, so I truly hope that she'd just been drugged. I'm not a saint, but I'd rather believe that opium was involved than think the unthinkable and run the risk of getting beheaded.

…

It was a bright spring morning when Dahlia Eames made her way up the hill to the hawthorn tree. Her family had recently bought the old mansion by the river, and beyond a charming wood, a small hill held the thickest hawthorn she'd ever seen. Being both an American _and _a member of the _nouveaux riches_, she didn't expect to get an invitation to tea with the neighbors anytime soon. Therefore, the bright sunny day left the well-brought-up young lady scrambling up a grassy knoll for entertainment.

Her dark brown curls were pinned back untidily and her dress, bought just the week before, already looked as if it had seen better days. A romp through the woods was _not_ the sort of thing one dressed up for, but Dahlia had no clothes that were proper for such activities. By the time she had reached the tree, she was too tired and overheated to do anything but sit beneath it and hope her hat hadn't been blown away into an unreachable place by the mischievous wind. Just as she was about to close her eyes, she heard a branch crack. Looking up, she saw a dark figure tumble out of the tree overhead. She stared with shock as the man stood, trying to regain his dignity.

"Beg pardon," he mumbled, brushing grass and leaves off his shirt. Then, "Charmed, I'm sure," he muttered as he knelt and swept through the grass until he found a pair of spectacles. Soon his dark eyes were regarding her from behind two panes of glass. "Hello," he said awkwardly, after staring for a moment. "I'm A. Raven." Dahlia stared at his outstretched hand before shaking it tentatively.

"My name is Dahlia Eames," she replied, mustering some semblance of propriety. "What, may I ask, is your purpose in climbing trees on private property?"

"Ah. Miss Eames. Delighted to make your acquaintance." He blushed. "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave as soon as possible." Turning away and pulling a leaf out of his raven-black hair, he then proceeded to act as if she'd left already. Dahlia stood and tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around to face her in a single fluid motion, looking dangerous, and she flinched.

"You have no right to order me to leave, unless you're some sort of groundskeeper and there's a danger to my person." Dahlia frowned as she'd seen her mother frown at lazy servants. Being only seventeen, this genteel expression only looked ridiculous.

"I am a sort of groundskeeper," A. Raven replied, giving her a dark look and removing his spectacles, "and should you linger near this tree for any longer than is necessary, your person will most certainly be in danger." He put the spectacles in his pocket, and suddenly looked very serious, like someone to be reckoned with.

Dahlia turned away in a huff, trying to act like nothing about him scared her. Unfortunately, when she thought she was a safe distance to turn around and look, he was looking right at her. If only she hadn't looked.


	3. Southern Erptwitch Protection Society

Dahlia Eames stomped her way up the wide marble staircase, glaring at the wall ahead of her. A maid called Lily appeared at the top of the stairs and stood there in shock.

"Why…Miss Eames! Whatever can have happened to your dress?" she asked, staring.

"I went for a walk," the dark-haired girl grumbled.

"Miss, at seventeen years, I'd expect you to know how to walk without your skirts dragging," the servant replied warily.

"Mind your place," Dahlia snapped, heading to her room. "Now help me change before someone sees me like this."

…

I've never been one to get distracted on the job. …Well, I _have_ once or twice, but those times don't count. Let it at least be noted that I've never once been caught away from my post on account of a lady. I'm no fool. When I met the Eames girl, all I felt was worry for the future of this nation, if that's the sort of girl that's considered high-class. Don't society's belles brush their hair these days? What is the world coming to?

Anyhow, I was not interested in 'Miss Eames' in the slightest. Heiresses bore me.

…

Dahlia crept up the garden path, wearing her newly purchased riding clothes. Of course, she'd brought a horse along, but that was just for show. Dahlia hated horses; big ugly things that they were, with not a brain in their heads to rebel against those that controlled them. She reached the woods without incident, and finally ran up the hill to confront the groundskeeper or whatever he was.

She reached the tree but found no one there, and walked around the trunk in circles for a number of minutes. Finally she looked upwards, peering through the leafy branches, and spotted A. looking down at her.

"Mr. Raven?" she called, putting a hand up to shield her eyes from the summer sun. "If you don't mind, I'd like to have a word with you." The man frowned and mumbled something about superiority complexes as he clambered down to the lowest branch, a good six feet off the ground. From there he jumped and landed rather miraculously with out injury.

"Alistair Raven, reporting for duty," he growled, bowing in an exaggerated fashion. "What do you want?" Shocked by his frankness, Dahlia paused for a moment before continuing.

"I asked my father about a groundskeeper, and he said he's hired no such person," she said importantly. "I'd like you to give me an honest answer as to why you're here, and if I believe this answer to be satisfactory, I'll go on my merry way and leave you to your squirrel-ish activities." Alistair glanced at the part of the tree where the cluster of thick branches met the trunk.

"I'm…an…ornithologist," he said finally, grinning at his own cleverness. "There's a nest up there; it's the nest of a very rare…Southern…erp…twitch? And I must protect it from predators."

"I see," Dahlia replied. "And this Southern Erptwitch, it makes its nest in the _North_ because…?"

"Well, that…that, you see, is because it's a very contrary creature and…" Alistair frowned. "It…um…likes it here?"

"That seems like a worthy cause for trespassing," Dahlia answered, smirking in a smug sort of way. "You may stay until these 'Erptwitches' hatch." The man gave a visible sigh of relief. "…but," she added, "I will be coming by to check on your progress. You know, to make sure the Erptwitches are alright." He glared.

"By all means," he grumbled. "The Erptwitches must be protected at all costs."

…

There are no Erptwitches. What a silly girl.

…


	4. Ladylike or Not: Adventures in Trees

A. Raven stood beneath the hawthorn tree, dispassionately flipping the pages of a brand-new copy of that infamous work of Oscar Wilde's. Suddenly, a girlish voice interrupted the monotony.

"Still watching after the Erptwitches, I see." Dahlia Eames trudged up the hill, shading her eyes with a single delicate hand. "And how are they?"

"Extinct," Alistair replied curtly, pretending to be suddenly interested in the exploits of a Mr. Dorian Gray.

"What are you reading?" the girl asked curiously, trying to get a glimpse of the title. Alistair slammed the book shut and tossed it into the branches above him. Flinching, Dahlia waited for it to fall back down. When it didn't, she stepped under the canopy of the leafy branches, glancing up in surprise. Grumbling something, A. Raven climbed dexterously up the trunk of the old hawthorn and vanished into the middle of the thick branches. Dahlia waited a long while before deciding enough was enough. Ladylike or not, she was going to climb the tree.

…

When I heard the crashing and the snapping and then, that shriek, I was hoping the nuisance had fallen down the hill and broken something vital. Then I peered down through the branches and there was no heiress in sight.

"Miss Eames?" I called, searching the base of the tree. Suddenly, with a sinking feeling, I looked down at the portal. Caught on a broken branch above it was a scrap of blue fabric. "Oh no." I stared into the darkness, terrified beyond comparison. "The damned thing fell in."

…

Finding she'd fallen through the trunk of the apparently hollow tree and into a hole in the ground, Dahlia looked around, seeing that she had somehow ended up in an unfamiliar forest.

"Hello?" she called out, standing and brushing the dried grass and dirt off her skirts. "Could I have fallen through the center of the planet and come out the other side in such a short amount of time?" she wondered, knowing that such an idea was most definitely ridiculous.

"Who are you?" a voice asked, and a young girl dressed in colorful rags appeared from behind a tree.

"I'm Dahlia Eames," Dahlia replied, blushing at the stranger's garb. "I fell through the hole in the tree."

"No one does that," the little girl explained with an air of superiority. "Not ever. Once it happened, but it won't again. Not ever. A big bird keeps watch over us."

"Do you mean A. Raven?" Dahlia asked, looking over her shoulder at the tree.

"A raven. That's right. It's a big, giant raven that lives far away, and he keeps us in and the other ones out." The little girl smiled. "I'm Gen. I live in the Wilds." She pointed towards what looked like a town made of brightly decorated caravans, far in the distance. "We don't go places much."

"That's…nice," Dahlia replied, peering at the faraway town. "You're a long way from home."

"Yeah, but as long as I can see it, I'm good," the girl replied proudly. "I never get lost _ever_."

"Would you mind taking me to see your parents?" Dahlia asked politely. "I'd like to find out where I am."

"Sure thing," Gen replied, taking Dahlia's hand. They began the long trek through the forest.


End file.
